


Romancing the Tome

by FrancesHouseman



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Light-Hearted, M/M, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 22:24:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13936662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancesHouseman/pseuds/FrancesHouseman
Summary: Terri asks a lot of questions about Dean, which figures. Sam doesn’t even feel disappointed really, he loves talking about Dean and this girl... well, he’s never going to see her again, so he talks.





	Romancing the Tome

 

It’s been six months since John died to bring Dean back. Sam and Dean live day to day. Sometimes they sleep in the car, other times they crash in cheap motels. Sam feels wild, untethered. All that survival training in their childhood, years and years of it... they’ve gotten too good at it, he and Dean, they need only the absolute bare minimum to exist.

Sam remembers Stanford and the surprising, sometimes bizarre things his friends had thought they ‘needed.’ There had been Brad with his portable gym, and Jess with her specific shampoos and skincare routine. The trappings of modern life serve to anchor people and slow them down. Sam anchors himself to Dean and sometimes he thinks there’s nothing in the world that can slow Dean down; Dean’s a runaway ride for two with no brakes.

 

 

They arrive into Albany, New York at sundown, not on a hunt, just looking; on the hunt for a hunt maybe. It’s been a long hot drive with two nights in the car, so they rent a room at the Barlow Motel and get themselves cleaned up.

The local dive bar is a place called Jake’s. Dean seems happy to hustle pool, and Sam knows when he’s only getting in the way, so he watches from a booth. It’s technically a dive bar but actually it’s a nice town and no one’s going to beat Dean up here, not unless he robs them blind, and that’s not going to happening because Dean is moderating his earnings. Sam can relax. Sam watches. Sam drinks.

Sam’s surprised when a girl comes to sit with him. She’s dressed in long boots and a small skirt, more makeup and piercings than Sam’s used to but nice to look at and friendly enough. Dean throws him a filthy look, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, and she laughs along as Sam’s cheeks turn pink. Terri is her name. She’s more Dean’s type but fun to talk to.

Terri asks a lot of questions about Dean, which figures. Sam doesn’t even feel disappointed really, he loves talking about Dean and this girl... well, he’s never going to see her again, so he talks.

When she asks if she can _write it down_ , Sam’s initial reaction is _hell no_ but then she says she’s writing a book and it would really help her out and so on, so Sam agrees. He asks her to change their names. She says, “Of course, Sam,” eyes dancing with amusement.

Terri’s notebook is one of those novelty faux leather things, with paper made to look like parchment. Sam gets into his stride and forgets the part about changing their names. It’s so good to have somebody to talk to about Dean, he tells her too much.   

Terri quickly catches on to the things Sam’s not saying too. “What would you _really_ like to happen, Sam?” she asks, full of mischief, almost like a dare, and Sam thinks _fuck it_. Terri doesn’t know they’re brothers. He extracts a vow of secrecy on pain of death, and then, because he likes Terri and wants to entertain her, and because she seems trustworthy (but mostly because Sam’s drunk), he spends the evening sharing his favourite Dean fantasies. It’s the best time Sam’s had in a while.

Eventually Dean saunters over, happy, flashing a large wad of banknotes for Sam’s eyes only. “Where are your manners, Sammy?” he drawls. “Introduce me to your pretty friend.”

Terri gives Dean her hand and he kisses it, the jerk. She laughs but makes her excuses: an early morning, so much to do, it was so nice to meet them, and then things get a bit blurry for Sam.

His last coherent memories are of leaning heavily against Dean as they make their way out of Jake’s Bar, and Terri calling, “Good luck, Sam!” sounding cheery and way too sober behind them.

 

****

 

The morning isn’t so bad. Sam must have remembered to drink water because there’s an empty glass by his bed. Dean lets him have a decent lie-in and Sam wakes to singing drifting in from the bathroom.

 “I get up around SEVEN, get outta bed around NINE,” Dean sings, loud and off-key, “Not gonna worry ‘bout nothin’ NO! ‘cause worryin’s a waste o’my TIME. Duh nu-nu-nuh nu-nu duh duh DUH, DUH duh duh duh DUH...” There’s some tile-slapping going on in there too, Sam thinks, grinning. There are worse things to wake up to.

“Where’s the heater from?” he asks, once Dean’s out of the shower.

Dean stands at the full length mirror in nothing but the motel’s worn-thin towel, taking his time styling his hair. His skin is pink and soft looking, and Sam watches from the corner of his eye, pretending to mess around with his phone. “Man, you really were out of it last night,” Dean says. “The heating was off, remember? Cold as fuck when we got back here.” Dean’s reflection smirks and he adds in a breathy falsetto, “We could share a bed, Dean. Body heat, Dean. Don’t go, Dean.”

Sam cringes. It’s uncomfortably close to some of the things he’d been talking about with that chick, Terri, last night. “Fuck off,” he mumbles, “I was shit-faced.”

“Yes you were,” Dean says emphatically. “How’s that head this morning, princess?”

Sam opens his mouth to reply and Dean’s towel falls off. Dean’s hands fly downwards of their own accord to cover his junk and the expression on his face is priceless, perfect slapstick. It morphs from surprise to irritation, probably at himself for covering up.

It tickles Sam. He laughs hard enough to give himself hiccoughs.

 

****

 

They have a late breakfast at Betty’s Diner, the closest to their motel. Sam calls Bobby but he doesn’t know of much going down in the area, besides some local witches. He says, “Don’t you boys go causing trouble, you hear me? Don’t hurt nobody without a damn good reason. There are bigger badder things out there than a bunch of misguided librarians, which is what the Sutton Witches amount to. Tell that brother of yours not to start a war, okay?”

“Yes _sir_ ,” Sam quips, hanging up on Bobby’s fake outrage.

A waitress brings one supersized shake with two straws, and one big basket of fries ‘to share.’ It happens sometimes that people think they’re a couple. Dean grumbles but Sam secretly likes it. He lets Dean have the shake but they share the fries.

“Bobby says hi.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Dean swallows a mouthful of fries and gives Sam a look that says _I know you were talking about me bitch but I can’t even be bothered_. “Nothing much to do here, huh?”

“Guess not.”

“Wanna see that new Zodiac movie and get drunk?”

“It’s eleven o’clock on a Saturday morning Dean,” Sam bitches, knowing how he sounds but unable to do anything about it.

“So? The movie’ll take at least three hours. And it’s always five o’clock _somewhere_ Sammy.”

 

****

 

The movie’s good. Not great but good enough that it doesn’t feel like a wasted day. Dean complains about the missing armrest between their seats but claims to have enjoyed the movie too, afterwards, although he nodded off at least twice. Once, his head had come to rest on Sam’s shoulder for a blissful moment before he’d woken up, glared at Sam like it was his fault, and then shifted so far away that the woman on his other side had started to look uncomfortable.

They get twelve bottles of El Sol afterwards, from a local liquor store; six to drink in their room and six to stash in the trunk of the Impala, although they’ll probably end up drinking the backups too. They’re drinking too much recently, and Sam’s going to have to be the one to do something about it. Next time maybe.

Dean sighs with contentment after his first swig and they settle in for a lazy afternoon and evening, Sam at his laptop while Dean messes around oiling his weapons.

“Was your hair always so floppy, Sam?” Dean asks after a while. “Wasn’t it, like, curlier or something when you were a kid?”

Sam looks up from his laptop and frowns. Bits of disassembled guns surround Dean on his bed but he seems to have forgotten all about them. He’s looking at Sam with an open, slightly goofy expression. Sam checks but the other bottles of El Sol remain unopened. Dean gives him a cheery toast with his first and only beer, and empties the bottle. “You feeling okay?” Sam asks him, because Dean looks drunk.

 “I’m feelin’ _good_. I mean, I remember it gettin’ in your eyes an’ dad always tellin’ you to cut it-”

“Have you been drinking whiskey from your flask again?”

“No!” Dean spreads his palms wide in a _would-I-lie?_ gesture and Sam snorts.

“Yeah, whatever. Might want to slow it down a bit. It’s not even dark out yet.”

“Is too,” Dean says, sulkily, and they’re both right, kind of: the sky beyond the highway is half-lit with delicate shades of pink and orange.

Sam turns on a lamp and twists in his chair to draw the curtains. He tries to ignore Dean and go back to his emails but Dean won’t be ignored.

“It’s been ages since we played truth or dare, Sammy. Remember when we used to do that?”

And okay, Sam is now officially freaked out because this scenario right here? This is directly out of one of Sam’s fantasies that he _wrote down in Terri’s book_. Sam’s neck hair stands on end and goosebumps break out down the backs of his arms.

“I don’t want to play truth or dare with you,” Sam lies, closing the lid of his laptop carefully. “Let’s get these guns back together, okay Dean?”

“C’n do it mysel’” Dean says, and he can, mostly, after a few failed attempts at judging perspective when fitting one bit into another.

“How about some chips?” Sam asks brightly. “They had sour cream and onion, and those corn ones in the machine.”

Dean lights up. “Get salt ‘n’ vinegar too bitch.”

“Salt ‘n’ vinegar. Check.” Sam slips out of their room and takes a moment to lean against the door, eyes closed. Terri had been too interested from the get-go. Had she known who they were? Was she one of the Sutton Witches Bobby had mentioned? All of Sam’s instincts scream _yes_. He wants to kick himself.

He gives Dean ten minutes and when he gently opens their door again Dean is fast asleep in his clothes, which is for the best. Sam needs to do some research and come up with some really good excuses.

 

****

 

“Ohhhhh, fuck _me_ ,” Dean groans. “What the fuck, Sam? My fucking _head_.”

Sam’s standing by the window. He’s been waiting for Dean to wake up for a while. “Dean, we have a problem.”

“That,” Dean says, muffled by a pillow, “Is an understatement.”

“There’s no way you should have been that trashed on one beer.”

There’s only moaning from Dean though, so Sam sighs and goes to his side.

“Aspirin,” Sam says, dropping an effervescing tablet into a glass of water. “C’mon.”

Dean sits up reluctantly and drinks it down in one go, then flops back to the bed and resettles the pillow over his face.

Sam leaves him alone for a while to come around.

 

 

“It tasted okay,” is the next groggy thing Dean says, an hour later.

 “That chick, Terri, from Jake’s Bar? I think she might have been a Sutton Witch.”

“Awesome.” Dean puts his wrists to his temples and screws up his eyes. “Let me guess. Sutton Witches like to poison hunters with spiked beer.”

“Not really. They’re more academics than witches according to Bobby, but that book she was writing in? I think it was a serendipity tract.”

“Goddamnit Sam,” Dean says, sitting up. He sniffs at his armpits and grimaces. “Why can’t you just get laid with some normal girl. A serendipity what?”

“Serendipity _tract._ It’s a little black book, a magic one. Anything written in it has a better chance of coming true. It doesn’t make things come true, just... improves the odds. It was you she was interested in anyway, you were all she wanted to talk about. I should have realised it was weird when she didn’t try and pick you up.”

Dean snorts a laugh and then winces. “So what? You guys wrote down a short story about how I die of alcohol poisoning from _one fucking beer_? She know we’re hunters?”

“Not... exactly.”

Dean gives Sam a narrow look

“I mean, I think she must know about us being hunters but-  the, err, things she wanted to write were- ,” Sam steels himself, “Romantic?”

“What?”

“It was romantic stuff. About,” he gestures between them, “The two of us.”

“What!? Why the fuck would you be talking about shit like that?”

“It was getting her hot, okay?”

Dean sends him a furious bloodshot look, swinging his legs out of bed.

“She started it!” Sam says, before he can help himself.

Dean levels a finger at him, “You owe me big time after we’ve straightened this shit out,” he says. “Oh my God, that’s what happened to my towel, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, and the broken heater. And, err, maybe the shake at the diner.”

“The missing armrest in the movie theatre,” Dean realises. It’s not a question. He shoots Sam an exasperated _what-the-fuck?_ look but then holds his hands up, as though to ward Sam off. “You know what? I don’t even want to know.”

Sam should apologise but that’s not how things work between the two of them. He just has to make sure Dean doesn’t _read_ Terri’s book when they find it. Other than that, things will be fine. Another skill that Winchesters finely hone in childhood is the art of the successful con. People tend to associate it more with Dean but that’s only because Sam’s a master of subtlety and therefore better at it.

“How do we find her, Sam?” Dean’s hair is sticking out at all angles and his eyes are red-rimmed. Sam experiences a pang of fondness for him, muddled with guilt.

 

****

 

They start out at Jake’s Bar. The bar itself doesn’t open for another two hours but Bob (‘No, but I’m Jake’s successor’) opens the door for them when they knock. It turns out that Terri _is_ her real name, and Bob gives them her cell number easily enough, after a bit of sweet talking from Dean. She’s local, he says, might even be back here later if they want to wait.

Sam calls the number but there’s no answer, just an answerphone that picks up, with the standard network message.

Dean snatches the phone. “Hi Terri,” he says, voice fake cheery, “This is Dean Winchester, the other guy you met at Jake’s Bar last night. I really _really_ want to talk to you, okay?” He leaves Sam’s number and snaps the phone shut, checking the time before handing it back. “I’m starving,” he says, “Let’s get lunch.”

Every radio station in the Impala is playing sexy music. Dean switches between Toni Braxton ( _ooh I get so high,_ ) Sade ( _this is no ordinary love,_ ) and Prince ( _all I want is your extra time and your..._ ) before shoving a tape in hard. ‘ _Squeeze me baby, ‘til the juice runs down my leg,_ ’ Robert Plant sings.

Dean curses and turns it off.

They each get their own smaller basket of fries at Betty’s this time. The place is quiet, since technically it’s still morning. Dean eats like he’s expecting Sam to steal his food.

“Will this spell or whatever wear off on its own if we can’t find her?” Dean asks, leaning back against the pleather, finished with his brunch.

“I don’t know, maybe. That’s not usually how it works. You know the book can’t actually _make_ things happen though, it’s just trying to encourage things along, y’know?”

“Next time I play pool, I’m leaving you handcuffed to the car,” Dean threatens.

“Whatever.”

The same waitress from the day before brings over a big bowl of chocolate ice cream with two spoons. “On the house,” she says, with a wink. There are heart shaped candy sprinkles on top. Dean snaps a spork.

 

****

 

Sam’s cellphone rings on the way back to the motel. “Terri?” Sam answers, gesturing for Dean to pull them over.

“Not Terri, sorry,” a woman’s voice says. “You left a message on Terri’s cell but she isn’t working today. If it’s a reading you’re interested in though I’m sure I can help. I’m Cheryl, the manager of Midnight Mist.”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks. That would be great.” Sam says winningly, gesturing at Dean for a pen, which he hands over. There’s paper in the glove box. “Just-  remind me of the address again?”

 “Not Terri?” Dean says, after Sam hangs up. He pulls back out into the traffic.

“Her boss, I think. Card reading, palmistry, something like that, _‘Midnight Mist: all your psychic desires.’_  Turn us ‘round, it’s not far from here.”

“Oh great,” Dean says, “Just what today needed.” He swings the Impala in a U-turn obediently and points them in the direction of Cheryl’s business. “Clairvoyants and clairvoyant tea.”

 

****

 

“Are you two together?” Cheryl asks kindly, as she sets coffee mugs full of green tea before them.

 This causes a moment’s silent disagreement. It would be the perfect cover, perhaps even make Cheryl more likely to pass on Terri’s personal details, but Dean scowls. “Not... like that,” Sam says.

“Oh. Well.” Cheryl takes Dean’s hand first, and begins the reading. She frowns at it for a long while and finally says, “You’re sure you’re not together?”

Dean stands up. “ _No._ We’re... _working partners_ ,” he finishes lamely.

The woman looks amused, and, great, she probably thinks they’re homophobic assholes now. “Okay honey,” she says, which doesn’t do anything to put Dean at ease.

“Look, we’re grateful that you agreed to see us so quickly,” Sam says, “But it was really Terri we wanted to see. She had this _book_ and we’re really interested in it.”

Cheryl sighs. “I could use the Tarot instead?”

“Um,” Sam looks up at Dean, who must realise what a jerk he’s being because he sits back down. “Yeah, thanks. That would be good.”

This pleases Cheryl. She bustles off to get a deck of cards and offers them out, well shuffled and face-down. “Which one of you wants to go first?”

Sam takes a card at random. It’s the King of Swords, which makes Cheryl giggle and pop her eyes at him, comedy style. She lays it in the centre of the coffee table and Sam takes another, The Lovers. Dean doesn’t make any movement or noise at Sam’s side but Sam can feel him radiating irritation anyway.

“Another one, honey,” Cheryl says. “The Lovers are your ruling card; this one for your hearth and home.”

Sam draws another card from the pack. It’s The Lovers again.

“Oh! That’s weird,” Cheryl says, “How did two of them get into the same pack? I am sorry. Try another.”

Sam tentatively draws another, knowing, before he flips it, that it will be the same.

“I’m so sorry!” Cheryl says, flustered. “We could try another pack...”

Dean stands, and this time Sam stands with him. “No, that’s-  never mind, it doesn’t matter. Could we wait to see Terri perhaps?” Sam says, glancing to Dean who is stoically expressionless.

“I can make an appointment for you but she’s not here until next week.”

“That’s a real shame. But yeah, if we can have the first appointment that would be great.” Sam gestures for Cheryl to walk ahead of him to the front desk. She waves away his payment but there’s an address book half-tucked under the counter that Dean has spotted too, so Sam asks for some of the leaflets on display, and while Cheryl’s back is turned Dean pockets the address book.

 

 

“Any luck?” Sam asks, back in the car.

Dean leafs through the neatly printed pages. “Bingo.” He holds up an entry reading ‘Terri Carmichael’ for Sam to inspect. “Less than a mile away.”

 

****

 

They stake out Terri’s house in the afternoon. It’s hers alright: they can see her walking past the windows, dressed up in a figure-hugging red dress and heels, obviously hosting some kind of party. It’s not the kind of party that’s big enough to gatecrash either, just a few friends over; too many friends, unfortunately, to risk breaking in.

“Fuck,” Dean observes.

“We can come back tomorrow,” Sam suggests.

The road Terri lives on is a wide tree-lined avenue that continues uphill from where they’re parked, opening out onto a beautiful sunset at the horizon. Gentle reds, pinks and golds light up the January sky and Sam is struck by the moment. Dean is quiet too. Everything feels strangely peaceful. Everything feels perfect: the light, the temperature inside the car, and the company. Sam turns to Dean and their eyes meet -

“Fuck this shit,” Dean says, slamming the car door.

“Wait for me!” Sam hisses, “What are you doing? We can’t just knock on her door.”

They go around the outside of the house. All the lights are on and Terri’s curtains are open. Dean points silently to an open upstairs window and Sam helps him hunt around for a ladder.

Before they can find one, the backdoor opens and merry voices spill out of the house: the smokers of the party headed for a break.

There’s a wooden door in the back wall of the house that has been left slightly ajar. Dean manhandles Sam towards it and they squeeze inside. The door clicks shut and they find themselves pressed toe to toe in a tiny space, no more than a closet really. It’s otherwise occupied by a vacuum cleaner, mop and other cleaning paraphernalia. Disappointingly, it doesn’t lead through into the rest of the house.

The smokers congregate close by and Sam resents having to breathe in lungfuls of second-hand smoke that seep in through the cracks in the wood, as they wait for them to finish.

“I don’t fucking believe it,” Dean whispers with feeling, when the smokers have gone.

“What?”

“There’s no handle.”

“What? There must be.” Sam runs his hands over the smooth wood but it’s like Dean says, the closet door isn’t designed to be opened from the inside. There isn’t even a gap to poke something through and lift the latch, since the door overlaps the frame on the outside.

Dean’s face is lit by a single stripe of fading sunlight that filters in between panels. He looks beautiful. Murderous but beautiful.

 _Don’t hit me_ , Sam thinks. _Don’t hit me, kiss me instead._ “Bobby said not to start a war here,” he points out.

“Fine.” Dean takes the car keys from his pocket and starts to jab a hole in the wooden door. It takes a really long time.

When they get back to the car Terri’s houselights are still on but all the curtains are closed.

“We can come back tomorrow?” Sam says again, in what he hopes is a neutral voice.

 “Get in the car Sam.”

 

****

 

When they get back to the motel, Dean locks the bathroom door. They _never_ lock doors. It stings Sam inside, in the place only Dean can reach. 

Sam hides his face in his laptop while Dean flicks channels and complains loudly at TV commercials from his bed, and generally becomes increasingly bad tempered. Eventually he announces, “I’m getting something to eat. Anything you want?”

“I’ll eat whatever,” Sam says, and breathes a sigh of relief when Dean closes the door behind him.

Dean’s out for just under an hour. When he returns, he’s carrying a shopping bag as well as two boxes of hot pizza that smell good enough to lift anyone’s mood. Dean would usually have beer as well, but apparently they’re not risking it while Terri and her book are still at large.

Dean empties the shopping bags out onto Sam’s bed, a slice of half-eaten pizza hanging out of his mouth. There are new socks and underwear for both of them, shampoo (Sam’s preferred brand,) toothpaste, hair gel (Dean’s) and... extra strength condoms and lube?

“Uh Dean?”

Dean looks at the lube thoughtfully while he finishes eating his slice of pizza. “I’m getting another room,” he says at last. And he does.

 

****

 

“Sam!” It’s Dean hammering on the door. Sam groans and tries to find his phone without opening his eyes. It feels too early. It _is_ too early. “Sam! Open the goddamned door!”

“What?” Sam mumbles, tripping to the door to find out what the emergency is. “What’s happened? What is it?”

“We’re getting coffee,” Dean says.

“Whadya need me for?”

“ _We’re_ getting coffee. I slept like three hours or something, four hours max and it’s _your_ fault. There were these asswipes next door tryin’ to drill a hole through to my room with their _bed_.”

If this conversation was a thing Sam could quit then he would. He turns away from Dean and walks zombie-style back to bed, and gets in, fully intending to sleep until a decent time.

“I’m gonna take the keycard back,” Dean says. “We can use one room. We’re just gonna make an extra effort to avoid romantic situations okay?” 

Sam could point out that none of the romantic situations are of his doing but he can’t be bothered to talk. And it would be a total lie. He tries to block Dean out by pulling the bed covers over his head but Dean keeps going.

“Get up gigantor, I meant it about the coffee.”

If Dean’s waiting for Sam to get up then he’s going to be waiting a long time.

Dean sighs. “I’m takin’ a shower. You better be up when I get out.”

Sam doesn’t say, _Shower in your own room_ , or, _For fuck’s sake Dean, just get into your original bed and go the fuck to sleep._

Dean locks the bathroom door again.

 

****

 

They skip Betty’s and grab some doughnuts for breakfast before driving back to Terri’s place mid-morning. Dean doesn’t even try turning on the radio and the unaccustomed silence fucks with Sam on a primitive level. The space between them becomes increasingly tense.

“She’s definitely out,” Sam confirms, coming around to the side of Terri’s house, to the window where Dean is standing, nose almost pressed to the glass.

Terri’s kitchen is painted sunshine yellow, plates and pans from breakfast washed and stacked on the drainer. “A little black book, yeah?” Dean points. “Like that one there?” The serendipity tract is sitting on Terri’s kitchen table in plain sight, propped up against a coffee pot.

Dean makes light work of the lock and the moment the door is open Sam darts around him, to get to the book first, trying, and probably failing, to make it look at least semi-casual.

Thankfully Dean lets it slide, with a huff and a shake of his head. He tucks the lock-picking tools away in his jacket pockets and regards Sam with something like amusement.

Belatedly, Sam realises that Dean has the only lighter. He glances at the gas hob and Dean follows his gaze. “You really want to be the one who burns that thing, huh Sammy?”

“Yup.” Sam sidles towards the hob. Dean mirrors him.

“You usually let me burn things,” Dean observes.

 _Oh shit_ , Sam thinks, and Dean makes a lunge for the book. Sam trips on a chair leg and they go down heavily, Dean on top, their faces bare inches apart, Sam’s thigh between Dean’s legs...  and, “Oh God.”

Sam’s moment of distraction is the opportunity that Dean needs to snatch the book away. He rolls to his feet and starts flicking through the pages.

“Dean!” Sam goes after him but he’s too slow. Dean puts the kitchen table between them and dances away from Sam in the opposite direction whenever Sam makes a move to get it back, all the while scan-reading the text.

“Jesus Sam, ‘romantic’ you said. Some of this is more ‘erotic,’ wouldn’t you say?”

Sam gives up and tries desperately to think his way out of what is coming.

Dean smirks, “You know, some of this shit could get other road users killed-  wait. Isn’t this _your_ handwriting?”

Sam takes a seat at the table and hides his face in his hands. Any moment now Dean is going to get to the really sappy things at the end, all in Sam’s own handwriting. He wants to be angry with himself but can’t quite manage it. There was the thing about how Dean is Sam’s anchor; the one and only thing Sam needs in this life, in the next life, in all lives and universes...

 It’s quiet while Dean reads. Eventually he snaps the book closed, takes it to the sink and sets it alight with his Zippo. It feels symbolic. Sam’s heart might be breaking.

“Huh,” Dean says, when it’s done. He watches Sam thoughtfully.

Sam bites his lips and looks at the table.  

“That how you really feel Sam?” Dean says, voice low. “Or was it the spell?”

Sam swallows and tries to judge Dean through the poker face. It feels like a dangerous situation but Dean’s giving him an out, if he wants to take it.

They both look at the remains of the book.

“I... might have started it,” Sam admits in a cracked voice.

Dean comes around the table and cups a hand around Sam’s neck, rubbing small circles in Sam’s hair with his thumb. Sam leans into it, cat-like, and Dean tugs at him, encouraging him to stand.

Sam stands. He closes the distance between them all the way down and crushes their lips together in a kiss.

Dean melts into it. He lets Sam take what he needs; a silent conversation of a new kind, and this time they’re in perfect agreement.

It’s not long before Dean is pressing back though, predictably trying to regain the upper hand. He flips them around so that Sam’s the one backed up against a wall and Sam lets Dean have at him like that for a while, enjoying the feeling of their bumping erections and the friction of Dean’s thigh between his legs. After a while though, Sam needs more. He slips his fingers into Dean’s belt loops and uses the leverage to push off the wall and get Dean backed up against the refrigerator.

Dean yelps satisfactorily and _bites_ Sam’s neck, using Sam’s distraction to flip them again, and it turns into a scuffle. There are pauses, episodes of mutually agreed rutting which last for long delicious minutes. Ultimately, however, neither brother is willing to let the other win and, inevitably, their tussles take them to the floor.

Sam does spare a thought for Terri as he shoves his jeans and underwear down around his knees. His cock slides against Dean’s bare cock for the first time and Dean hisses. Sam moans. He thrusts against Dean without meaning to, and then again, and again because it feels so fucking good.

There’s not much, supernatural or otherwise, that could make them stop what they’re doing right now, if Sam’s honest. If defiling a witch’s kitchen is an act of war then Bobby will just have to deal with it. Somehow Sam doubts Terri will mind too much.

 

****

 

Terri recognises the Impala, which is parked really obviously across the street from her house. She goes around the side to check through the kitchen window and, sure enough, there are two big, sweaty, half-naked men rolling around on her kitchen floor; the Winchester brothers, unless she’s very much mistaken.

She can’t see much because the kitchen units are in the way; just the occasional knee, elbow, and the back of Dean’s head when he comes up for air. If she moves sideways though... at a certain angle she can see their faces reflected in the glass of the oven door.

Sam’s head is tilted back, his eyes screwed closed in pleasure. Dean nuzzles his way up, mouthing Sam’s jaw and re-claiming his mouth in a passionate kiss.

The charred remains of Terri’s serendipity tract lie forgotten in the sink. She smiles. She can make another book. It was totally worth it.

 


End file.
